The conference room of Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill—"HHM" to those in the know—was an expansive, marble-floored space, with ceiling-high windows that overlooked Albuquerque. It was the kind of room that whispered "success" in hushed, mahogany tones, even if the view outside was more tumbleweeds and strip malls than gleaming skyscrapers. The room was filled with the hum of midday traffic, muffled through thick glass—a constant reminder of the bustling city they were supposed to be conquering, not hiding from in their cushy suburban fortress.

On one end of the long, polished mahogany table sat Evan39—better known to his friends and colleagues as Charles Lindbergh McGill Jr., the Senior Partner of HHM. His posture was rigid, a legal pad and a freshly sharpened pencil laid out before him like sacred relics. Beside him, Mainlining, also known as Howard Hamlin (or "Howie," if you dared), sat in his trademark crisp, tailored suit, his hair perfectly coiffed. A younger, sprightlier man, Mainlining had been appointed Managing Partner by his father, though the title often felt more honorary than authoritative in the presence of the firm’s true patriarch. Meanwhile, Slippin’ "Boom" Jimmy was yet to make an appearance—no surprise given his lack of respect for people's time, much less law firm decorum.

Nostalgia and Expectations

Evan39, flashing his time-tested signature smile that had blinded hundreds of juries, broke the silence. "Mainlining, you and I, we've come a long way from those early days with George Hamlin. Remember when you were the fresh-faced associate, dazzling everyone with your client-relationship skills? Almost like my sick brother, Boom, but without the questionable ethics and penchant for disappearing acts, of course. It's no wonder we've not only survived but thrived in this cutthroat Albuquerque legal scene. We own this legal community, minus the stuffy suits and this… soul-crushing suburban office park."

Evan39's voice took on a professorial tone, his gaze sweeping across the conference room as if addressing a lecture hall. "Indeed, Mainlining. The nascent days of HHM, a time when this firm was but a fledgling idea, a vision shared by a few dedicated legal minds... those were halcyon days, untainted by the frivolity and chaos that seem to permeate the modern legal landscape."

The room quieted as Evan39 continued. His next words carried more than just nostalgia. They seemed to reflect a deeper philosophical belief—a belief in HHM’s relentless pursuit of perfection, what the associates jokingly called “the Mahchine.”

Evan39 paused, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the polished mahogany, a habit born from years of maintaining order amidst the controlled chaos, oddly akin to a seasoned manager of a bustling grocery store. "Which is precisely why today's interview with Ms. Brill is of paramount importance. We must ensure that our candidates possess not merely legal acumen, but also the unwavering integrity and steadfast dedication that our firm, and the very essence of the law itself, demands.”

"The Mahchine," whispered Mainlining under his breath, acknowledging the unspoken metaphor that had long circulated within the firm’s halls. The Mahchine—HHM’s high standards, endless billable hours, and the dehumanizing drive for success.

The Young Associate and the Document Dungeon

Mainlining chuckled, his tone lighthearted in contrast to Evan39’s gravitas. "While we wait for the next Yo-Yo Ma of the legal world to walk through that door, how's our newest junior associate handling the less glamorous side of things? You know, the mountain of discovery documents in the basement?" Mainlining paused, a playful glint in his eyes. "Or should I say, the 'concerto of case files'?"

Evan39 grinned, his smile a little too wide, lingering a bit too long on Mainlining’s impeccably styled hair. A familiar glint entered his eyes, the kind that appeared whenever he orchestrated the humbling of an overeager associate. "Ah, yes. Poor kid. He thinks he’s cutting his teeth on a career-defining case, but little does he know, we just needed someone to sift through the junk. It’s a time-honored HHM tradition, molding bright young minds through the crucible of document review." He chuckled, a hint of sadism in his voice. "Besides, it’s a little like running a grocery store—someone’s gotta be in the back stacking the shelves while the manager keeps an eye on the big picture. Keeps things… orderly."

Mainlining laughed, adjusting his perfectly knotted tie. "And out of sight. I hear he's been working so hard he’s starting to see redactions in his sleep. Maybe we’ll let him out once he can recognize a proper privilege log at fifty paces. Or, better yet, when he can recite the entire HHM client list backward while juggling a billable hour quota and a venti latte."

They shared a conspiratorial chuckle, the kind only two seasoned veterans of the legal battlefield could share. Both knew the young associate’s fate was sealed for at least another 80-hour workweek in HHM’s document dungeon, a rite of passage as old as the firm itself.

Disco Fries and the Relentless Pursuit of Billable Hours

Evan39 snickered, chiming in on another matter that would unsettle most, but not two legal titans at the top of their game. "Yeah, poor Disco Fries. Found him in that closet-sized office of his last week, door shut tight. Turns out he'd been dead for days. No one noticed, naturally. We simply assumed he was diligently attending to his duties, as was his wont. The man likely billed more hours in death than most associates manage in a fortnight."

Mainlining raised an eyebrow, half amused, half horrified. "Our finest Of Counsel? Dead for days? In his office?"

Evan39 nodded with mock solemnity. "Precisely. It seems our esteemed colleague finally succumbed to the relentless pursuit of billable hours. The Mahchine claimed another one, Mainlining. The man finally took a break... but only after his heart filed an uncontestable motion to dismiss. Perhaps we should consider offering unlimited vacation days... posthumously, of course."

Mainlining forced a chuckle, though his eyes betrayed a hint of unease. "Indeed. Rather... unfortunate. I must confess, I initially attributed the... peculiar odor emanating from his office to his penchant for accumulating takeout containers."

The death of Disco Fries wasn’t just a dark joke. It was a cautionary tale. The Mahchine kept grinding, and Disco Fries became another casualty. His story was a reminder that HHM’s culture came at a cost—one that might not be noticed until it was too late.

Schweikart & Cokely and the Threat of Bagels and Balance

Mainlining sighed, adjusting his cufflinks with a hint of unease. "Speaking of competitors, I hear Richard Schweikart over at Schweikart & Cokely has been quite aggressive in his recruiting lately. He's dangling 'work-life balance' and 'growth opportunities' in front of our associates. Free bagels on Fridays, casual dress... it’s practically a free-for-all over there."

Evan39 scoffed. "Schweikart? Please. That man's a charlatan, peddling empty promises and undermining the very foundations of the legal profession. He may lure in some impressionable young associates with his talk of 'work-life balance' and 'growth opportunities,' but mark my words, Mainlining, they'll soon discover that true success comes from hard work, dedication, and an unwavering commitment to the law. Not from free bagels and casual Fridays."

Mainlining offered a measured smile, but his eyes betrayed a slight shift—a growing awareness that the Mahchine might not be able to grind forever. The allure of balance was tempting to many, and Schweikart & Cokely was positioning itself as the antidote to HHM’s relentless demands.

Tensions Boil Over: The Interview

At that moment, the grand doors of the conference room swung open, revealing Ernesto, the eager HHM legal assistant, ushering in not one, but two interviewees: Slippin’ "Boom" Jimmy, a walking sartorial contradiction in a faded University of American Samoa sweatshirt, and Erin Brill, a vision of buttoned-up intensity in a power suit so sharp it threatened to shred the very fabric of reality.

The clash between them was inevitable—Erin’s devotion to law’s sacred procedures versus Slippin' Jimmy's casual disregard for formality. The interview unfolded as expected, with tensions rising.

Evan39 couldn’t help but explode when Slippin’ "Boom" Jimmy uttered the phrase “bend the rules.” The law wasn’t something to be finessed, manipulated, or creatively interpreted. “THE LAW IS SACRED,” he shouted, his voice echoing through the conference room.

Slippin’ "Boom" Jimmy leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Hey, maybe a little creativity wouldn’t hurt around here. Might even make it less... deadly.”

After the Interview: Scotch and Strategy

As the door closed behind the departing candidates, Mainlining turned to Evan39, his brow furrowed with concern. "Evan, are you alright? That was... quite intense."

Evan39 took a deep breath, his hands still clenched tightly around the arms of his chair. "I'm fine, Mainlining. Just... disappointed. It's disheartening to see such a blatant disregard for the sanctity of the law."

Mainlining nodded slowly, choosing his words carefully. "Perhaps... perhaps we could discuss this further later. Over a cup of coffee, perhaps?"

Evan39's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Coffee? I'd prefer something a bit stronger, Mainlining. Scotch, perhaps? Single malt, naturally."

Mainlining returned the smile, relieved to see a glimmer of his old friend returning. "Of course, Evan. Scotch it is—top-shelf, naturally."

As the lights flickered ominously, signaling another late night in the office, the weight of HHM’s expectations hung in the air. The Mahchine continued to grind, but for how much longer?

Epilogue: Chicken Wings and Reality Checks

Outside the conference room, Slippin' "Boom" Jimmy and Erin exchanged a look.

"Well," Boom said with a grin, “At least the chicken was good.”

Erin sighed. “Speak for yourself. I’ve had more engaging conversations with my printer jam.”

Boom chuckled. "Don't sweat it, counselor. It's all just a big game, really. Like trying to post on XO without getting doxxed."

Erin rolled her eyes. "Right. Because that's the pinnacle of a legal career."

Boom winked. “Hey, just remember… if this law thing doesn’t work out, there’s always a future as a late-night bump poster on AutoAdmit.”

Erin shook her head, muttering under her breath. “I'd rather argue formatting inconsistencies for eternity.”

And with that, they walked down the hallway, each lost in their own thoughts about the day’s events.

The End.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5598966&forum_id=2#48115576)

"The "sacred" law, a jungle of venal ambition, where souls are bartered for the fleeting promise of success. Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill, a monument to this empty pursuit, a steel and glass cage gilded with the illusion of prestige.

Evan39, a man shackled by his own righteousness, a prisoner in a suit and tie, upholding a system that will inevitably consume him.

And Slippin' Jimmy, a fleeting glimpse of rebellion, a coyote howling at the corporate moon, destined to be crushed by the very forces he mocks.

Disco Fries, ah, Disco Fries... a cautionary tale whispered in the corridors of power. He dared to dream of a life beyond the billable hour, and for this transgression, he was consumed.

XO, a digital ossuary where the bones of ambition are laid bare, a stark reminder of the abyss that awaits those who chase the siren song of corporate greed."

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5598966&forum_id=2#48279525)